


from beyond

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Kingsman: The Secret Service, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: After Harry's death, Eggsy tries to speak to him.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	from beyond

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Shinedown's "Through the Ghost."

Eggsy has gone to faith healers. He's done the crystal shit—and no, not the kind most people think of.

He hasn't told anyone, of course. It's bad enough to mourn someone for this long, to move into their house, to wear their fucking robe almost every night. It's worse to turn to those things, those superstitions he used to laugh at.

Since V-Day, though, there's more people like that setting up shop, and Eggsy can sense the greedy ones luring in desperate people hoping to express their regrets. Most, he believes, are those who took a life on V-Day and want to say, "I didn't mean it, you know? I love you. I've always loved you. I'm so sorry."

He's pretty sure he's being taken for a ride half the time, but can't seem to stop. He pays in cash, someone holds his hand or turns down the lights, incense flowing through the air, the kind that makes his nose itch. Most speak in soft tones, doing what Eggsy's read is cold reading, something he files away to keep in mind for future questioning for marks. He suspects half have bugged the waiting area and the other half are riding on vague, pithy sorrows people have already spilled.

He wants to tell them that "he's proud of you" is such a common variation, unoriginal and thoughtless—but thinks he knows the reason behind his frustration: he simply doesn't believe it.

But there's someone who frowns, holding his hand in hers. "I'm not getting anything," she says honestly, and Eggsy's ready to chalk it up to another bad job when she drops his hand and says, "Love, are you sure he's gone?"

He stares at her. Of course Harry's fucking dead. He saw him get shot. Yeah, there's a forty-percent survival rate and all that shit—he's done his research, of course—but there's no way.

"Let's try something," she now says, then slides a silver bowl filled with water between them. "Close your eyes. Think of him."

Eggsy concentrates. The amber-warm eyes. The soft smile. The fond voice, saying his name. The awful things, too—shouted words, carnage and gore...

The spray of blood against the pale blue sky, before landing on the pavement. And he sees it, as clear as day, in the water: the fall, the stillness, the—the hand twitching. Making a fist, then spreading wide, patting the ground like smoothing out bedsheets. Pained breathing, like every rattle costs energy.

Footsteps, heels clicking against the ground. A hand lifting his chin. A soft "hush."

"Harry," he breathes, and the image dissipates like early morning fog. He leans back in his chair, gasping for breath, strangely clear-headed and feeling _alive._ But the skeptic in him wrinkles his forehead, looking up at the woman with narrowed eyes.

"That was a...pretty good hallucination," he says, too casually.

"Do you think so?" she asks, equally calm.

He doesn't answer, but thinks, _No._ It's impossible. There's no way. She'd slipped him something, or had a projector somewhere.

But he knows in his heart that it's real, as real as Daisy's chubby kneecaps, as his mum's tears, as the medal underneath his shirt.

"Find him," she says, twisting a red flower in her hair, orange and wavy like flickering flames. "Find him."


End file.
